


The Long Hot Summer

by house_of_lantis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sterek end game, These are drabbles from my Tumblr, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the Hale fire, Derek returns to Beacon Hills. </p><p>Drabbles from my Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me here: http://theserpentgirl.tumblr.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He rode into Beacon Hills on the hottest summer day, the loud noise of his motorcycle engine turning heads as he slow rides along Main Street. He wore a black helmet, dark sunglasses, and black leather; the scruff of stubble on his jawline, his face hidden, but the sneer on his lips visible. Beacon Hills was by no means a small town, but gossip moved with lightning speed at the unexpected return of Derek Hale.

The Hale fire was still one of the biggest mysteries of Beacon Hills; nearly a legend now, a spooky story of how eleven members of the Hale family were locked inside and burned alive. It was ruled an electrical fire, an accident, but people still whispered that _someone_ had set the fire. _Someone_ who was close to the family and knew their movements and schedules. _Someone_ had locked them in the basement. The Hales were one of the wealthiest families in Beacon Hills and there was only one survivor, a survivor who would inherit the 100 acres of land and all that money. Derek was 16-years old, the sole survivor and heir to everything. But he was sullen and uncooperative, his whereabouts of that morning unaccounted for, circumstantial evidence pointing to Derek setting the fire. There was no proof that he had done it, but by then the damage was done, the nasty rumors all over town. And then a wealthy uncle from New York City stepped in and took custody of Derek and left town.

It was for the best for everyone. The town could recover from the shock of the fire and the deaths of the Hales, the youngest being only 18-months old. Everyone agreed that Derek leaving Beacon Hills was for the best. Out of sight, out of mind.

Ten years later, Derek Hale rode into town, sullen and uncooperative, his whereabouts unaccounted for, to reclaim his property and his rights.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Sheriff John Stilinski was enjoying his hamburger and curly fries at his desk at the Station when news of Derek’s arrival was reported to him. He sat back in his chair in surprise, waving his Deputy away, and sank into the memories of that day. He was a Deputy then, first on the scene, watching as three firemen had to wrestle Derek to the ground to keep him from running into the burning house. He’d taken Derek home with him until a relative could be contacted; he’d left the silent and stoic Derek in the capable hands of his wife, Claudia, and their 11-year old son, Stiles. All the town’s leaders were quick to investigate the fire, quick to find the ones who committed the horrendous crime, only to find out that there wasn’t anyone to blame.

John thought that the investigation was too quick, too clean, and he had heard the rumors that Derek set the fire. He was the only one to defend the teenager; to keep looking into the case, until he was told to stop. He kept copies of the Hale case files at home, quietly adding to the thick folder of collected evidence and interviews and pictures, even years later.

He wrapped up his lunch and drove his patrol vehicle to the old Hale House.

Derek was standing outside, staring at the burnt remnants of the once beautiful property when John pulled up along the driveway.

“I was wondering when you’d come looking for me,” Derek said, staring up at the house. “I heard that you’re the Sheriff now.”

“It’s good to see you again, son.”

Derek gave him a grim look. “I’m not planning to stay long if that’s what you wanted to know. I only came back to finalize my trust and put the property up for sale.”

“It’ll be a shame to see the Hale lands bought by developers. No doubt they’ll raze everything and build shopping malls,” John murmured.

“I don’t care what they do with it. It’s not my home anymore.”

“Where are you staying?”

Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. “I’ll get a room somewhere outside town. I know my presence here isn’t wanted.”

“Why don’t you stay with us? The guest room is set up and I know the kid will be glad to see you again. He’s home from college, just graduated.”

He watched as Derek’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

“You know where the house is,” John offered, taking a deep breath. “Stiles likes to have dinner at six sharp; the kid’s making meatloaf and he’s perfected Claudia’s secret recipe.” He paused for a long moment, looking at the young man in front of him. He wasn’t that destroyed teenage boy of the past; this was a hardened man, no joy at all inside of him. John remembered what Derek was like before the fire – happy, popular at school, polite, well-liked by everyone in the community – and he thought, sadly, that _that Derek_ had died with the rest of his family.


	3. Chapter 3

With a shiny new degree from Berkeley and a full ride scholarship to Stanford Law School in September, Stiles was happy to be home to spend the summer with his dad and his friends, before immersing himself for the next three years in Torts, Procedures, Contracts, and Constitutional Law. Stiles wasn’t sure what he would focus on, but he knew that when he graduated and passed the Bar Exam, he wanted to practice law in Beacon Hills.

Wednesdays were cheat days for his dad; one day a week where Stiles wouldn’t bug him about the stuff he ate. When he was away at school, he had a conspired with and created a network of spies who kept the Sheriff honest; there were plenty of eagle-eyed people at the Station and ruthless church ladies that Stiles could harangue into cooking healthy dishes and vegetables for his dad. But on Wednesdays, Stiles turned a blind eye and his dad could eat his favorite fast foods and, when Stiles was home on break, he’d make something from his mom’s cookbook.

There was a hard knock on the front door. Stiles wiped his hands on a towel and hustled down the hallway. Maybe his dad forgot his keys or had his hands full? When he opened the door, the man standing on the front porch was not his dad. It was a _familiar_ stranger, though, someone Stiles knew, but couldn’t place. It was a strong dose of deja-vu and there was something shivery in the pit of Stiles’s stomach. Then again, Stiles didn’t know anyone who looked like this guy. He was hot in that _I’m-gonna-fuck-you-hard-and-steal-your-soul-but-you’ll-love-every-second-of-it-so-give-it-up_ kind of way. The eyebrows furrowed deeper as Stiles stared at him.

“Hey, man, how can I help you?”

“Your dad asked me to come by.”

Why the Hell would his dad ask someone who looked like a serial killer to come by? Was it for a new case that he was working on?

“Uhh…right. Well, my dad should be home in a couple minutes so…Who are you again?”

“Derek Hale.”

Stiles stared at him, snapshot memories of the time when Derek Hale lived with them. He had tried to befriend the older teen and was rebuffed every time. His mom had explained what had happened; that the best thing he could do was to just share space with Derek, but to be there for him when Derek decided to reach out. It had hurt Stiles to know that Derek had lost his entire family; his young mind knew enough to know the fear of that loss. He had shared every toy he had with Derek; his only child generosity didn’t have any boundaries at that age. Derek had lived with them for two weeks before his Uncle Peter came and took him away. For a long time, Stiles felt the loss of Derek with sibling-like intensity.

“Wow,” he finally said, swallowing thickly. He moved to hug Derek but paused at the stern look on the man’s face. It looked like Derek would probably rip his throat out with his teeth if Stiles touched him. Well, all right then. “It’s been a long time. Welcome back to Beacon Hills.”

“The Sheriff invited me to stay in the guest room,” Derek said, plainly. He picked up a black back pack, tightly packed and secured with thick nylon rope.

“Right, shit, where’s my manners. Come on in, Derek,” he said, opening the door wider and waving Derek inside. “So, um, where’ve you been all these years? It’s been, what, eight or nine years?”

“Ten years,” Derek said, looking around the house.

Stiles nodded and gave him a smile. It was obvious that older Derek hadn’t changed all that much from teenage Derek – a man of few words. “Okay, well, you know where the guestroom is. You can go unpack and wash up. I’m making dinner and we can eat when dad gets here.”

Derek gave him a long look and walked past him, taking the stairs two at time. Stiles watched him go. Damn, ten years…he’d be 26-years old then. Aside from the serial killer vibe, Derek Hale had grown into his eyes and nose. The eyebrows were kind of scary as Hell; and Stiles imagined that the scowl was probably a permanent feature. He heard Derek’s footsteps in the hallway upstairs, a door creaking open and the dull thud of a heavy bag dropping on the carpeted floor. Stiles walked back into the kitchen, giving Derek his privacy.

He picked up his phone from the counter and typed a quick text to Scott: _Dude, you will never guess who is in my house right the freak now! Derek Hale._

A second later, Scott texted back: _WTF!_

Stiles made a face: _Dad invited him to stay here. Deets later._

“Where’s your mom?”

Stiles looked up to see Derek walking into the kitchen. He’d taken off his leather jacket. Stiles did not stare at how the short-sleeved shirt clung around his upper arms. He closed the textbox on his phone and placed it face down on the counter.

“She died a few years ago; right around the time you left Beacon Hills.”  

Derek paused for a long time, dark green eyes lowered. “Sorry for your loss. Your mom was always good to me.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind,” Stiles said, giving him a small smile, knowing that Derek would understand.

Derek nodded, running his hands over the counter. “Anything I can help with dinner?”

“Can you set the table? Do you remember where everything is?”

“Yes.”

Stiles concentrated on cutting the lettuce for the salad, dicing the other vegetables neatly, and putting everything into a large wooden bowl and tossing the ingredients to get a good mix. He looked over his shoulder to see Derek opening cabinet doors, finding plates and glasses, opening drawers for utensils. He carried everything to the small round table in the kitchen. They hadn’t used the dining room in years; even when his mom was alive, she always preferred to eat at the smaller table, plates bumping each other, sitting close together. He was glad that Derek remembered and watched him neatly set three places.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Five hours with the lawyers at Wolfram & Hart ( _Angel shout out_ ) and Derek had signed enough paperwork to make his hand ache. Everything was settled, his trusts available to him now, the insurance money claimed.

“We’ve had several offers from developers to purchase the land.”

Derek frowned, looking out the window to the town below. He slid his eyes beyond to the hills surrounding the town. “I haven’t made my decision yet.”

“If you’re waiting for a significant amount—“

“I’m pretty sure that I don’t need more money,” he said, hands clenched tight. “I’ll let you know if I decide to sell.”

Later, he parked his bike outside the Beacon Diner, pulling his iPad from his saddlebag, and walked inside to take a booth at the end. He sat facing the entrance and gave a polite nod to the waitresses, ordering coffee and the dinner special, steak and eggs.

He liked the Beacon Diner because they left him alone, the WiFi was free, and the food was good. He signed into the secure server of his bank to move some funds to Peter’s accounts. He knew his uncle didn’t want it, hadn’t asked for it, and didn’t need it, but Derek’s pride wouldn’t let him forget everything that Peter did for him after the fire.

Derek logged off the banking site when the waitress brought his food. “Thanks, Jane.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, not right now, thank you.”

She gave him a friendly smile and moved away to check on the four other customers in the diner. Derek ate slowly and opened a new browser, searching for a furnished rental in the area. As much as he liked staying in the Stilinski guest room, he wasn’t sure how long he would be in town and he didn’t want to wear out the Sheriff’s generosity. A week was long enough.

And catching Stiles coming out of their shared hallway bathroom wearing nothing but a towel as he walked back to his bedroom was more incentive for Derek to find a place of his own.

He chewed slowly and took a deep breath. Stiles. Damn it, Derek couldn’t afford to be distracted. He remembered the kid, a little tornado of energy and bright happiness, always talking and questioning everything, and Derek wasn’t surprised to find that the Sheriff and Claudia were both so limitlessly patient with Stiles, that they adored him, and it made Derek sink even further into his silent grief. They reminded him so much of his own parents, the closeness he shared with his siblings, and the joy that filled their house when the baby joined their family.

Derek bookmarked a few properties that he’d visit in the morning and then shut down his iPad. His cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket and he pulled it out to see that it was his Uncle.

“Peter.”

“I seemed to have inherited half a million dollars. And while I appreciate the gesture, you must know that it’s not necessary.”

Derek snorted and cracked a small grin. “Then set up a trust for Regina.”

“My daughter doesn’t need another trust fund,” Peter said, chuckling. Derek heard him sigh, followed by a brief silence. “How is it being back there?”

“Weird; nothing I can’t handle.” He paused. “I’ve been staying with the Stilinskis, but I’m going to find a place tomorrow.”

“Mmmm,” Peter murmured, thoughtfully. “It seems you have come full circle.”

“Something like that.”

“Are you certain that I can’t dissuade you from pursuing this course of action?”

Derek looked around the diner, no one was paying him any attention, but he dropped his voice lower. “I need to know the truth of what happened. It wasn’t an accident, Uncle Peter, and I’m going to find out exactly what happened to our family.”

Years later, Derek had read copies of the police reports from the Sheriff’s office, the insurance office, and the fire department. Peter had hired a number of private investigators and independent consultants to review the accident as well. The only thing that they could find was evidence of a faulty electrical outlet that sparked. Derek knew that was a lie; with an 18-month old baby who could crawl with a fearless curiosity, the whole family had baby-proofed the house. All outlets were covered, cabinets were locked, and everything was pretty much tied up out of reach or tied down. There couldn’t have been a faulty outlet in the house.

“I have to be here to—to remember,” Derek whispered. 

He had spent years trying to unlock his memories – therapy, hypnotism, regression therapy, drugs – but there was still a gap in his memory. He had lost hours, maybe days, leading up to the fire. The only things he could remember was screaming until he lost his voice, pinned down on the ground by men who smelled like smoke, and watched as his house collapsed and burned to the ground. He didn’t even remember how he got there; why he was the only one standing outside.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you need my _assistance_ , Derek,” Peter said, softly.

Derek knew _exactly_ what kind of assistance Peter would send. There were certain parts of Peter’s business that slipped into the darkest of grays. It was one of the reasons why Peter Hale moved his family to the east coast; the family was vocal in their disapproval of the things that Peter did in their name.

He chuckled. “I’m surprised that you didn’t already send some of your people here to watch my back.”

“None that you’d ever see if I did.”

Derek looked around the diner and then outside in the parking lot. He didn’t see anyone or anything that looked out of place, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t being watched and protected. He sighed and shook his head.

“Peter…”

“I promise that they will not interfere with your life.”

“You are so paranoid.”

“Experience has taught me to be cautious,” Peter said, chuckling. “Well, call me and keep me updated.”

“I will. Talk to you later.”

He ended the call and placed his phone back into his pocket. He finished his dinner and made a mental list of things he would do in the morning as he waited for his check. He paid cash and left Jane a generous tip.

***

He parked the bike by the gas pump and shut down the engine. He unscrewed the cap and began filling the tank. He saw the dark red truck pull in front of him and wasn’t surprised to see Chris Argent get out, smiling at him.

“Derek Hale. I heard that you were back in town.”

He watched as Chris moved to put gas into his vehicle. They stared at each other, two Alphas too wary to turn their backs on each other.

The pump shut down automatically and Derek moved the gas pump back into its holder, screwing the cap back on to the tank and closing the lid.

“You should come for dinner,” Chris called, watching him. “It’s been years since the Hales and the Argents shared a meal at the same table.”

Derek chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head. “I’m sure your father and the rest of your family will be as welcoming.” He gave Chris a sly grin. “Though I’m sure your sister will be pleased to see me. Oh wait, isn’t she somewhere up north, in Oregon?”

Chris grinned, his blue eyes focused on him. He jerked the pump from his truck and set it on the holder, taking a deep breath. “Kate, _as you know_ , is still in treatment.”

“Too bad. I really missed your sister,” Derek drawled, getting on his bike and starting up the engine, revving it loudly. “She was a real _firecracker_ , our Kate!”

He gave Chris Argent his best shit eating grin and sped off into the night.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Derek/Other (anonymous bathroom blowjob) but Sterek end game! FYI.

[BASED ON THIS PHOTO MANIP CREATED BY SINYHALE ](http://sinyhale.tumblr.com/post/66901075390/that-sweet-mouth-of-his)

 

Derek liked the anonymity of _The Jungle_. It was a good place to hook up with someone who knew the score. He wasn’t looking to take anyone home; and he wasn’t the kind of guy anyone brought home anyway.

It took him ten minutes to find someone – he was looking for a specific type tonight, turning down the pretty boys and the muscled gym bunnies. He wanted someone unassuming, someone who didn’t fit into the club scene. When he caught the eye of a young man with brown hair and brown eyes, Derek smiled and charmed him enough to take him to the restrooms.

He cupped the back of the head of the brown haired boy on his knees, mouth wet and warm and busy as he sucked Derek’s cock with more enthusiasm than skill. Derek leaned back against the corner of the stall walls when the door opened and Stiles stared at him, greedy eyes widening as he took in the scene. Derek watched as Stiles licked his lips, his eyes narrowing as they dropped to the other boy.

“Get in and close the door or get out, Stiles,” Derek husked at him.

Stiles met his eyes, biting at his upper lip. Derek could tell that Stiles was trying to make up his mind. Stay or go. He thought it was pretty simple. He’d bet money that Stiles was going to run out, embarrassed at the intrusion, unable to meet Derek’s gaze later.

He watched as Stiles stepped into the narrow stall, pulling the door closed behind him. Well damn, Derek would’ve lost that bet.

The boy moaned and pulled off of Derek’s cock, turning to look over his shoulder at Stiles. He smirked and opened his mouth to say something, but Derek grabbed him by the nape of his neck and slipped his cock back into that open mouth.

“Get me off,” he said, roughly.

The boy looked up at him, coy and knowing, long eyelashes fluttering, and his dirty moans louder now that they had an audience. All for show, no substance, but it was enough to get Derek off.

He settled against the wall and smiled at Stiles, letting his eyes wander down the slender frame, to the hard on tenting the front of his khaki pants.

“Come here,” he called, holding his hand out to Stiles.

Stiles licked his lips and took a tentative step towards them and then paused. Derek grinned, his hand steady as he waited for Stiles to make up his mind and take another step. He watched as Stiles swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as he took another step towards them. Derek raised his eyebrows, daring Stiles to take his hand next.

“That’s right, come closer, Stiles,” he murmured, watching as Stiles raised his hand and slid his slender fingers along Derek’s palm. He closed his fingers tight and pulled Stiles the rest of the way so that he was pressed against the back of the boy on his knees.

“Derek—“ Stiles gasped, one of his hands fisting Derek’s shirt, the other going to the shoulder of boy between them.

The boy groaned, his throat fluttering around the head of Derek’s cock. He made a soft, approving noise as he ran his hand behind the nape of Stiles’s head, pulling him in for a slow kiss.


End file.
